WhiteWash
by Light1
Summary: Blood on the walls can be covered by paint but it's never really gone.


**White Wash**

Disclaimer: Hellsing belongs people who are not me. I am making £0.00 out of this fic, it is written purely because I have a burning need to create. Although I would like to own Alucard . . . then he'd be mine.

Rating: PG

Authoress note: Blood is not easily covered.

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**White Wash**

The valentine brothers had been dealt with. The mess they had made however had not been. The creatures themselves were relatively simple to deal with. They were after all simple hooligans who had suddenly found an over whelming source of power. They had utilized that power in a clumsy fashion and were of little consequence to those who commanded them. They were the stick that poked the wasps nest to see if it was empty or about to explode in a swamp of enraged vengeance. No one ever cared if the stick got broke. Yet for simple hooligans they had been quiet successful. It had been humiliating that they had managed to do as much damage as they had. The Hellsing ranks had been decimated, all because she hadn't expected to be attacked so brazenly on her home soil. Because she had never seen ghouls organized in such a fashion. No vampire had ever attempted it before. Not the attack on Hellsing or the mass organization of sentient ghouls. She had never come quiet so close to a vampire attack on her person. Alucard's random attempts at mock violence towards her did not count. He was after all impotent in that respect. His threats were more of a joke than he was.

The ghouls had been numerous and organized. Integra had never seen ranks of ghouls previously and they had been highly effective at destruction. The mansion was in shambles as were her remaining men. Everything had to be put into priority order. Of course the few remaining enemy ghouls and her own men who had become ghouls had to be dispatched. That had been her first job. She could have ordered Seras, Alucard or Walter to handle it but she did not. It had been her fault and so this was her job. Second was the burials, men were always more important than objects. The funerals had been hard, but she had forced herself, this was her fault and she would witness the consequences of her arrogance. Third had been replacing the men lost. This was her fault but she had delegated that job to Walter. He had many connections and would replenish their ranks within a few weeks, faster and better than she could, she had no doubt. Fourth and finally had been the mansion itself. The place was a mess, blood covered, burned and full of holes. This was her fault. She would fix her ancestral home. She was amazed with the speed it was done, one day she ordered the repairs, three days later the upper hallway looked brand new. It was efficient, and the work was of a high caliber but she wasn't sure she liked it. Her dislike was nothing to do with the décor it was more to do with the fact that no one could tell by looking that men had died here. She did not like the fact that she felt like she was hiding her mistakes. She stared hard at the wall, trying to spot the blood seeping through the paint work, pooling up through the carpet, she almost wished it would, anything to remind her that this had happened.

She stood staring in the hallway for two hours before he arrived. She could feel him behind her. He was silent as he always was when he moved but she did not need to hear him too know he was there. The fact that he was being this quiet was slightly unnerving, but she was not worried. It was actually thoughtful of him to wait until addressed. Silent companionship was always preferred by her.

"You're being subtle?" she smiled a little glancing at him.

"I thought I was being thoughtful?" he answered, Integra huffed.

"Peering into my mind is not thoughtful," she snapped, he shrugged, and she watched him out of the corner of her eye.

"It is when one wishes to judge your mood correctly. If I was denied this then by now you would be chasing me down the hallway," he spoke softly. "Although judging from your thoughts getting you to move away from this particular wall would be a good thing." She said nothing. They were silent for a time after he spoke. The only sound was her breathing and occasional small movements. She wished she could be as still and silent as him. But she would never verbally admit that to anyone, least of all him. He was still enough to be completely unseen if he stood against a shadow. If all you had was hearing and smell you would never know he was present when he was quiet. She envied him this ability. It must be so peaceful to be that still.

"I wasn't expecting them to paint over it all so quickly," she said after a few moments. He shrugged once again. "It's like it never happened."

"Perhaps," he conceded "for one of limited senses." She scoffed at his words

"You mean people," she looked up at him; he looked back down at her.

"I mean humans," he smirked "you wound me that you think I am not a person."

"You're not a person, you're a monster," she stated coldly, not unkind, just cold.

"Can't I be both?" he asked she shook her head

"No. Now tell me what you mean?" she looked again at the hallway leading to the meeting room. The carpet was new, the floor beneath sanded smooth, no blood stains. The walls were freshly painted, no blood stains. The paintings had been changed, no blood stains. The ceiling was painted, no blood stains. The hallway was perfectly normal.

"Beneath the stink of paint is the aroma of blood. It has soaked into the walls. It has soaked into the wood of the floor and the plaster on the ceiling." He took a deep breath through his nose "you can hide it from my eyes but not from my nose, I can smell the death here. It is wonderful." His hands were shaking as he spoke and for a moment she was repulsed by his reaction to the hidden blood. But he was what he was, and he was half starved. She supposed that were she half starved for so long then the smell of onions or bacon or some other food would make her tremble as well. At least he wasn't licking the walls.

"Will it ever fade?" She asked

"No," he answered "not completely," he laughed cruelly "you cannot honestly think that a coat of whitewash would cover over your mistakes." He shook his head "it is not your liberty to have such allowances."

"I know, and I am glad." She smiled at him. He smiled back at her and dipped his head in a small informal bow.

"I know you are my master."

**End **


End file.
